


More Than I Can Say

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Episode Related, Romance, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-12
Updated: 2004-03-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 02:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12071652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: This takes place on the night the boys established their rules (Ep. 206).  They're back at the loft, and Brian is thinking.





	More Than I Can Say

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

He’s waiting for you. 

You dim the lights, climb the stairs and pause. Your thoughts tumble as you stand still. You think about Deb’s words earlier tonight. Her confident declaration. _She_ said the words. You couldn’t. You fucking _couldn’t._

Oh, but you were so eloquent -- _“...that’s not the reason I want you to stay.”_

He deserved more, but you were incapable. Lucky for you, he accepted your offer, but he probably shouldn’t have. He gave you a pass, because he knows your limitations and how broken you are. You want to prove him wrong, but you can’t. If you tried, you would choke on the words. You would fucking drown. 

So you resolve to tell him in your own way. In the only way you can; in the only way you know how. You’ll show him. You’ll show him and hope he hears you. 

You crouch low and speak softly into his ear. “Justin.” He shifts beneath you. Softer still. “Justin.” He stops breathing to listen, and you continue seductively. “Justin, we’re going to play a game. Close your eyes, and don’t move. You have to lie perfectly still.” He loves your games and begins to ask, but you stop him, a finger on his lips. “Ssshh.” He searches your face, thinks he sees something he wants, nods happily and closes his eyes. 

He thinks you’re playing a game. You know you’re playing for keeps.

And so you begin. You close your eyes and use your mouth to trace the words across his face. You sweep back and forth, murmuring mutely. Surely, he can hear you. He opens his eyes, and you kiss them closed. He disobeys again and reaches up to catch your face. He grins at his prize, and you press his hands back into the bed. “Don’t _move."_ He sighs and smiles his assent. 

You want him to hear you. You need him to hear you. 

Your kisses trickle and spill over his chin and down his neck, and you pause at the hollow of his throat. Your kisses are more insistent now. Louder now. A plea? His pulse is strong and sure against your lips. You hold your breath, not wanting to miss it and offer a prayer that it will always be this strong, this sure. You remember how your hands shook, that night, as you tried to find his pulse. A small moan escapes your mouth and you suck him hard, head bowed, and beg him to hear you. He gasps in response. 

After a while, you kiss your way down and lay your head over his heart. You're comforted by its heavy rhythm and lie quietly, ear pressed tightly. You play a counterpoint along his ribs, fingers dancing lightly - a love song in a minor key. You want to stay here, but you can’t. You have so much more to tell him, so much more to say. 

You stop when you reach his lower belly and take deep breaths, feeling him quiver beneath you. He's sensitive here - this is a good place to tell him again. You push into him, burrowing deep. His fine hair tickles your nose, and it's hard to breathe but it doesn’t matter. You’ll stay as long as you can, and hopefully, it’ll be long enough for him to hear you.

You sing a song of desire when your lips find his cock, but he’s already familiar with that tune. He knows it too well. You remind yourself that you’re not here to tell him about your lust. _You_ know that, but you don’t think he does. You confide this to him in a slow withdrawal and a long exhalation. For a moment, your resolve waivers, and you linger selfishly. With a sigh, you move on. 

You lift his right hand to your lips and tell him by kissing his fingers - all five, at least five times each. Then, five times more just to make sure he gets it. You do the same thing with his left hand, repeating yourself over and over until you lose count. 

You spread his legs and rest your head between his thighs, whispering wordlessly into the warmth of his body - this is no rumor. You scatter kisses as you speak secretly, your mouth pressed close and hot - he might not hear you otherwise. You sneak away to the back of a knee and confess in private. He makes a noise, and you emerge silently. 

Your tongue reminds him as you trail a path to his feet. You have no shortage of kisses for his toes and nibble each in turn. Laughter floats around you. His smallest toe gets the final kiss before you turn to his soles and rest them against your cheeks, warming them. His feet are always so cold. You turn your head and kiss a smooth heel. You turn again and glide your tongue along a high arch. You decide to hide there and chant silently, ‘ Listen, listen, listen.’ You open your eyes and peek up to look at him. 

He's watching you, a look of wonder on his face. You’ve never played _this_ game before. You set his feet down gently and crawl up the bed to join him. His eyes never leave yours. He lays back down, and you spread yourself over him, covering him completely. He reaches around you, all the way around you and holds you close. You listen to his breathing. “Brian?” He sounds awed. You rise up and look at him, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just smiles and closes his eyes, listening to something only he can hear. 

You drop your head and kiss him, wanting the last word. 

Later, you sit in the dark smoking. You're angry now. Angry because you don’t want to care this much. Angry because you don’t care enough.

Christ. This is too hard. Your life was so much easier before. You were fine. Now, you’re . . . you’re . . . you don’t know _what_ the fuck you are. Yeah, you do. You’re scared. You’re scared to fuck this up, because for the first time in your life, you really want this thing. This thing with Justin. You’re scared you won’t be able to keep it. 

You think it might have been better if you had never seen him, but that streetlight shone so brightly and so did he. You shake your head and look at the floor.

“Brian?”

You don’t look up.

“Brian?” He comes closer.

“What’s wrong?” He sees the set of your shoulders, the hang of your head.

You look up into his face. His trusting, beautiful face. You want to keep him. You want to keep him so bad it hurts.

“Nothing.”

He looks at you and nods once. “Come to bed.” 

He holds out his hand. You look at it, then take it. You have to take it. You stand and allow him to lead you. Toward what, you’re not sure, but you follow him anyway.

* * *

Author's Note: I was inspired to write this after reading Gradiva's beautiful story, "Shadows." It can be found on LiveJournal. There is a link to it at the end of Juteux's fic, "Motives," which is another great read.


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